


A Study In Love

by MayM



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Study in Pink, Cute, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, POV First Person, POV John Watson, angelos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayM/pseuds/MayM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A twist of the awkward conversation in Angelo's in BBC's A Study In Pink between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, and the following events because of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Candlelit Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys this is my second fanfic, this was thought up when I was sitting around after watching A Study In Pink for the fourth time and thinking about how different the whole show would be if the conversation went a little like this, and well, next minute I was on my computer writing this!  
> Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, this is just a fanfiction about the characters owned by BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

“Right. Good.” I reply, attempting to end the conversation before it can go further. I twist my fork into my pasts again, curls of the steam billowing up and ensnaring my senses. I lean in and bring the fork up to my mouth, and my eyes flick up to Sherlock. He sits, staring intently out of the window. His gaze drops, and a flicker of emotions play in his eyes. He turns his head slightly towards me, and opens his mouth, preparing to speak. My eyes return to my pasta, before he catches my eye, and I inwardly groan as he opens his mouth again,

“If... If you were asking me... um...” He clears his throat and straightens his blazer. He avoids my gaze instead fixates his eyes on my food as he continues, his voice wobbling slightly, “What would you want me to say?” Our eyes meet, and he dips his head, eyes cast down, and I turn my head, eyes wide and heart rate picking up. I then turn back to face him, and he looks up at me through his lashes. My breath hitches slightly, the candle light flickers and dances around in his irises and cast intricate shadows from his cheekbones and lips across his face. Tread carefully, I think to myself, I may be attracted to him, but any sudden movements or words could make him draw away and make the rest of this evening a night of pure awkwardness.

I clear my throat and talk slowly, softly, carefully, “If I asked the question it wouldn't matter what I would want, just about what you would want.” His eyes study me, flicking across my whole face and darting down to my hands and back up to my eyes, trying to catch any betrayal of emotions.

“I see,” He replies, “But what happens if I don't know that I want it never having been asked?”

“Do you want me to ask the question then?”

“Do you want to ask the question?”

“I asked first”

“Fine. Please ask the question.”

I clear my throat, searching for words quickly, my mind racing trying to work out where this might lead and if I want to let it get there. I shudder delicately as I think of the possibilities, but not in disgust or fear. I notice we have both slightly leaned toward each other, just twenty centimeters separate us. “Sherlock Holmes, do you want to... uh...” He keeps his composure at my hesitation, but I can see the smile in his eyes. “Would you like to...”

“I'd like to try slowly first and then decide thank you,” He interjects, a smile crinkling his eyes and spreading wide.

My eyes flick down to my hand and I twitch with anticipation, our fingers throughout the conversation were inching towards each other, now just millimeters away from touching and I could feel my fingertips tingling and waiting for his touch.

Gradually, our heads move closer and closer together. His iris dilate, and they flick down to my lips, back up to my eyes, and repeats over and over. My own eyes lower to his lips, the want, the _need_ of them on my own course through my body and pushes my head closer and closer until-

His eyes flick to the street and he goes completely rigid. His lips move slightly as if he's murmuring to himself and his eyes bore at something outside. I'm left hanging with my face forward awkwardly. I think about just plunging forward and releasing myself of the agony of waiting when he suddenly pulls away and springs up, reaching for his coat. He tosses it around himself, and grabs his scarf, folding it and then lacing one end through the other. I gulp, and cower back in the seat, mortified at his rejection. His eyes are wide with excitement, and a look of pure glee is plastered on his face. He nods his head towards the window and I spin round. A taxi sits in the middle of Northumberland Street.

“There, look, a taxi stopped in the middle of the street, no one getting in no getting out.”

“You're saying that's the killer?”

His attention returns to me, “Most probably, coming?”And with that he turns on his heel and flies out of the restaurant, calling back “Thank you, Angelo!”

“Dammit,” I mutter, clambering out behind the table and following Sherlock. Angelo stands at the door and winks as I nod and murmur my thanks, and I feel my eyes rolling as I jog out into the street.


	2. Wanting Watson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock decides on his answer to John's question.

I stand catching my breath, Sherlock having just dashed me through alleys, up and down stairs and leaping from building to building in order to find out the man we suspected to be a criminal was in fact just a tourist who happened to be in a taxi that stopped. I haven't felt that much thrill since the war. And I loved every second of it.

I stare down at the police badge and let out a breathy giggle.

“What?” Sherlock inquires, confusion dancing across his face as he tries to steady his breath back to its regular pace.

“Nothing, just 'Welcome to London',” He looks at me with curiosity for a split second before joining in on my laughter, the deep sound rumbling in his chest and filling me with warmth. Mycroft's words from earlier on in this evening run through my mind, “What is your connection with Sherlock Holmes?” And right now, I don't know what it is, but I'm glad we do have one, and I can tell it's going to grow into a strong one, whether that be through friends, or lovers, right now I don't care I just want to stay with him.

With finish our chuckle with sighs and smiles, and look towards where the taxi had stopped again. The American man was inquiring an officer and pointing right at us and Sherlock turns to me, an eyebrow arced, “Got your breath back?” He asks, still panting slightly.

“Ready when you are,” I reply, and with that we turn and start to jog back to 221B.

We turn the corner and pass an alley way. Sherlock suddenly stops and I begin to turn around to see what the matter is, when hands roughly grab my biceps from behind. The streetlights turn into lines of blur as I'm quickly spun around as shoved unceremoniously against the alley wall. Sherlock's hands remain tightly gripped on my biceps and his breath comes out in ragged gasps.

“John.”

“Yes?” I ask cautiously, debating what the expression on his face is, it looks defiant, hungry and raw, yet his grip is tight and his posture threatening as he towers over me.

“You never let me see if I wanted,” He gestures towards me with his head, “This,”

“I think you'll find you're the one that ran away,” I manage to squeak out, lust, definitely lust is what is darkening his face.

“Only because I knew you'd chase me.” He growls. He dips his head down, and surprises me. I was expecting a crushing kiss that would make me kiss roughly back from the expression on his face and the mischievous glint in his eyes, yet instead his lips brush softly against mine like a whisper. I feel my shoulders relax and sag, and his hands trail down from my arms and rest on my hips, pulling me away from the wall and pressing our waists together. My hands crawl up and slip under his coat, where they clutch at his jacket. Our bodies curve around each other, and I'm grateful for the place on the wall he chose to push me up against, a dark shadow overs us from view. He moans as my tongue traces the prominent curve of his lips, and he opens his mouth to meet mine. His tongue slips into my mouth and flick across my own before licking delicately at the roof of my mouth; I feel a shudder of delight dance up and down my spine, and my hands roam around as he curved back. He pulls away, drawing out a groan of his absence from my throat and he chuckles softly, resting his forehead against mine. His hands trail up my back and we hold each other in an embrace. We stand in silence, save for the sounds of our own racing heart beats drumming in our ears. The sounds of the city bustle and traffic slowly register in my brain, I find it amazing how everything seems to carry on as normal after I have just experienced something that I know is life changing. After a while he murmurs,

“John...”

“Yes?” I sigh back.

“I've decided on my answer,”

“Oh really?” I ask, mentally crossing my fingers.

“I do want this.” He whispers. I feel my whole body relax in relief, I hadn't even noticed how tense I had been just then. I open my eyes and meet his, and for once they don't flick away to deduct my every move, they stay watching mine as if instead he is realising we are one.

“So do I,” And with that, his hands slip down and he threads his fingers through my hands. We walk out of the alley and he tucks our joined hands under his coat, not only not wanting for people to see us together, but also wanting this to be for just us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter's a bit cheesy guys! More soon :)


End file.
